


Wake Up Alone

by BabyWithWings



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Bottom Oswald Cobblepot, Cooking, Gay Smut, Grief/Mourning, Insecurity, M/M, Mentioned Hallucination Oswald, Power Play, Riddles, Singing, Smut, Top Edward Nygma, body issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-07
Updated: 2018-04-07
Packaged: 2019-04-08 18:05:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14111019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BabyWithWings/pseuds/BabyWithWings
Summary: ...He would go so far as to call it No Man's land. Wouldn't be the first time they got shot (furthermore, it wouldn't be the first time they'd shot each other). Both were hesitant, deeply concerned for how the other would react, behavior he hadn't expected from Oswald, considering how straight forward he'd been in previous encounters (including the hallucination). There may as well have been red flashing lights (his mind gave him a memory of the Arkham lights flashing against concrete walls, damp and molding during one of the weekly breakouts) any time Os had come onto him, which is probably where his mind got it from. But now, he really wished Os would get over that nervousness and be that assertive guy he remembered him being. God knew he didn't have it, he was more confident in riddles and murder than himself. But what he would give to see Os suited and slick-haired, to hear his voice singing to him once more.





	Wake Up Alone

Ever since he'd found Oswald alive, Edward had a difficult time disassociating him from what the hallucination had said, had done. And yet, Edward never told his previously presumed dead friend about it. About the song he'd imagined him singing. Slow, seductive, his eyes blown wide with lust, the smirk on those pretty pink lips made him want to put them to a different, more effective use. It was hard to walk away from that hallucination, and it couldn't even touch him. The only thing that allowed him to stop was the pain he felt for being aroused by the mere idea of the man who murdered his girlfriend serenading him. He hated it because it was a hallucination; it came from his own mind. A dark, dark place in his mind that had been repressed when he found Isabella. His adoration, idolization for Oswald Cobblepot had festered into something shameful. Something that had Os singing Amy Winehouse, dashing and sensual. Needless to say, it had fueled many a fantasy far after the fact.

And when the relationship evolved, from enemy to acquaintance, acquaintance to friend, friend to that grey space of something safe and something intimate. He would go so far as to call it No Man's land. Wouldn't be the first time they got shot (furthermore, it wouldn't be the first time they'd shot each other). Both were hesitant, deeply concerned for how the other would react, behavior he hadn't expected from Oswald, considering how straight forward he'd been in previous encounters (including the hallucination). There may as well have been red flashing lights (his mind gave him a memory of the Arkham lights flashing against concrete walls, damp and molding during one of the weekly breakouts) any time Os had come onto him, which is probably where his mind got it from. But now, he really wished Os would get over that nervousness and be that assertive guy he remembered him being. God knew he didn't have it, he was more confident in riddles and murder than himself. But what he would give to see Os suited and slick-haired, to hear his voice singing to him once more. 

It was then that the idea of out and asking for it flooded the gates of the Riddler's mind. But that, frankly, sounded whorish. He allowed himself to be prideful in the fact that he wasn't some cheap slut. Besides, even if Penguin did want him, who was to say that he would be okay with that? Maybe he had stage fright (unlikely, considering he was the mayor for several months), maybe he didn't actually sing like that (also unlikely; Oswald sung in the shower, and while Edward never made a point about it, he was very much accurate to the vision he had created), or maybe he was reading the signs wrong. Maybe all this careful consideration to how he reacted to certain things wasn't him trying to be more subtle about his advances, perhaps it was him backing off, showing that he didn't harbor those feelings anymore. Edward could understand that, considering the fact that the last time he professed his love of Edward got him shot.

Or maybe Oswald hated him now. Maybe all of this was a stratagem to get Edward to relax into him, and then seek his revenge. Had he have been in Oswald's shoes, he would have done the same thing. It was a smart plan. But he knew that isn't what Oswald would do. He would go after something he cared about, and as far as Oswald knew, he didn't care about anything or anyone. He did put some effort in for that. Os is more straight forward than emotional trauma; he was more of a stab-and-watch-you-bleed kind of guy than lightly-puncture-and-twist kind of guy. He got off on being the last thing people saw before they died, his words being the last they hear, telling them how what just happened was their fault, leaving them with resentment for themselves. That's probably why people came back to kill him. 

And still, after all the reasoning as to why he shouldn't go track him down, why he shouldn't bother Oswald, the Oswald who may very well still hate him, why he shouldn't ask for such an unreasonable, absolutely annoyingly random favor, something in his gut told him that he needed to go and see him, to talk it out, to ask what they were, and his mind told him that he wouldn't be able to sleep until he got to live out the rest of his fantasy. Sometimes the billion years of evolution that tell one to fuck are right. Primal and explicit, yes, but logical and understandable. And maybe if he didn't get to live his fantasy, he would leave with better knowledge of where he stood on Oswald's chessboard.

So the Riddler stood from his chair and unrolled the sleeves of his white button-down and buttoned them snug to his wrists, then put on his waistcoat and his signature green coat. Adjusting his glasses, he leaned down and tied on his Oxfords, put on his hat, and made his way out of his flat, walking toward Oswald's manor. It was dark out, and cold enough to see his breath, staggering and unsure (much like a pre-mortum Oswald, and the mind of a present day Riddler) wisp in the air. His cheeks, once warm and rosy, now freezing and chapped, much like his nose. He tucked his hands into the pockets of his suits, suddenly wishing he had brought a scarf. 

The Van Dahl Mansion soon came into sight, and his heart began to race. He stopped in his place. Right there, in that manor, was the man he'd hallucinated about, the one he'd come to terms with and admitted to himself that he wanted his time and attention in more ways than one. He'd hidden behind the facade (his mind offered him a riddle: _I am unable to be seen, but many people think they can spot me, in all my shapes and forms. I can put people in dark, uncomfortable places, and I can put people exactly where they need to be. What am I? A lie!)_ that he would absolve his lover's folly and leave, demote back into his cold, loveless self, but he couldn't deny the bubbling in his stomach and the abnormal beating of his heart when he saw that Manor and thought about Os. For now, he shoved the intrusive sensations and thoughts aside. He could deal with that later, on his own, or... maybe even with Oswald, in a best case scenario. 

He had done so much to him. He had mocked him, rejected him, even killed him, and now here he was, crawling back to Oswald and begging for him to fulfill his biggest, most ignominious fantasy. It made him want to curl up and lie in his humiliation, and pray that he ferment into a better, more confident man. A man who can better express gratitude. Better accept love. Better decline intimacy. He took a breath. He knew he couldn't do that, he couldn't lay down and expect himself to get back up a better man. If he wanted to be better, he had to prove it. He had to become it. So, he began his pace once more, and started toward the mansion.

He approached the door and knocked on it three times, stepping back a little to give space as he waited for Oswald to answer it, request a hard lump in his throat. Too late to back out now, though he suddenly felt a strong desire to bolt around the bend and hide behind the edge of the house. If Oswald came to inspect it, his gammy leg would give Edward some time to figure out a sufficient way out. But, as his mind worked out different endings of this night, Oswald opened the door, and fuck if Ed couldn't feel his pulse in his neck and wrists (and, more deplorably, the root of his sex).

"Ed," He said, surprised, with an apron tied around his neck and waist. It had a faint red stain on it, which looked more like grease than blood, so Ed wasn't too concerned. The apron protected a black suit, clean and pressed, with a white button down not unlike his own, with a deep green silk tie. Some how, that was better than his hallucination. It was something he could easily grab and use to pull him forward. He fought off a blush. "I didn't expect you. Is something wrong?" Ed noted the tinge of nervousness, and it suddenly occurred to him that he didn't take into account that Oswald may have plans that evening. He should have called ahead. 

"I'm... sorry, Oswald, is this a bad time?" He asked, tinge of guilt easily recognizable, which was nothing compared to anxiety chains squeezing his stomach.

"No! Not at all," He said, a little quickly, stepping aside for the taller man to make his way in. "Come in, please." Ed put on his poker face, not trusting his natural expression to not expose either his true intentions, or his very real nerves. He heard the door close and the heavy lock fall soon after. "I'll put another steak on." He motioned for the Riddler to follow him, moving slowly with his limp. He almost went to argue, but he presumed that it would be more fair to wine and dine before he set out his proposal.

"Thank you," Edward said, remembering his want to express more gratitude. It felt odd, using such language. It reminded him of when he was back with the GCPD. Gross. He followed him into the kitchen, keeping behind him to maintain some form of respect. 

"No problem, Ed. What's going on?" He asked and he began to season another medium sized steak. 

"I had a question for you," He said, softly. "A riddle." Os's lips stretched into a smile. 

"Alright. I'm all ears."

"What has meter but no length, a key but no lock, bars but no drinks?" Oswald thought for a moment.

"A song!" He said, grinning widely. Edward felt his heart begin to race once more.

"Yeah," Ed replied.

"What does that have to do with your question?" He asked, placing it on the grill, sizzling as soon as it made contact. Nygma thought he could feel the acid in his stomach wearing away his stomach lining. 

"Oswald..." He said softly. Oswald turned at the tone, more concerned than playful. 

"Edward?" The Riddler's heart almost stopped, looking into those blue, edging on green eyes.

"When I hallucinating... I didn't just see myself." Oswald untied the apron, turning off the heat, and took it off, his friend's uncertain fear reason for worry. Edward waiting for the sizzling to cease to a simmer before continuing. "I saw..." He swallowed slightly, the lump in his throat returning, making it difficult to speak. "You, Oswald. I saw you." He watched as Oswald's features turned into one of confusion and flattery. His heart gave a hopeful leap.

"Okay," He said, voice just barely breathless. "Again, what does that have to do with a song?" Oh, beautiful Oswald. Beautiful, clueless Oswald.

"Mostly, when I hallucinated you, you were telling me not to go public as the Riddler, to continue to hide in plain sight." Oswald nodded softly, as if agreeing with the statement, if only somewhat. "When I planned to leave anyways, you... the hallucination, that is... sang. To me... um..." It was rare that the Riddler was deemed speechless and nervous. Oswald must've been relishing in it.

"What did I sing?" He asked, leaning against the counter, arms crossed over his chest, looking a little smug. Nygma wanted to reach over and grab that tie and shut him up. But, he relaxed. 

"The... chorus to, uh... Wake Up Alone by Amy Winehouse..." Oswald raised an eyebrow.

"That's a rather... promiscuous chorus." That hope he'd felt sunk to the bottom of his stomach. He felt like he was gonna be sick.

"Yeah," He said, looking to anywhere but Oswald. "It... is..."

"And I suppose you came here to... what, Ed? Hear me sing it? The real me?" He asked, smile twitching into a smirk.

"It was a presumption," He said, previously freezing cheeks now warming and reddening under Penguin's gaze. Penguin made his way over, slowly but surely, until he was at his side.

"How did it go again?" He inquired, reaching up to place a tentative hand on his arm. "Oh... I remember..." He leaned forward, brushing his lips against Ed's earlobe.

 _"He's fierce in my dreams, seizing my guts."_ Ed was sure he was gonna go into cardiac arrest, with the amount of times his heart has raced and slowed in the last thirty minutes. But this time, with the extra pressure, he felt the first crackle of arousal, electric hot but short lived in his veins.

 _"He floats me with dread."_ Oswald had moved behind him, both hands coming up to rest on his shoulders, breath hot against his neck, making a shiver fall down his spine and shock every nerve in his body delightfully as it passed.

 _"Soaked in soul, he swims in my eyes by the bed..."_  His voice was as good as he imagined it being, hitting each note perfectly (he partially congratulated his mind for memorizing his pitch). Os's hands were sliding down to his mid back, then around to his sides as he appeared at his left. This time, he leaned toward his jaw.

 _"Pour myself over him... Moon, spilling in..."_ Edward's breath hitched and Os's smirk widened, his fingers itching to reach out and touch him.

 _"And I wake up... alone."_ Oswald went to retreat when Edward finally reached up and grasped his tie, pulling him into a kiss. Oswald was surprised, breath shaky as his hands found Ed's lapels, very much how he imagined it would be. Edward had a power thing. He supposed it was from all those years of being repressed, ignored, and humiliated at GCPD, that when he was given power over someone, he felt... incredibly good. How he'd ignored Oswald was a mystery to him. He prided himself on his brilliance, but always failed to see what was directly in front of him. And Oswald's hesitation was beginning to falter away, if he was a little shaky. Ed encircled his arm around Oswald's waist, hand against the small of his back, pulling the smaller man's body against his. 

Oswald always had insecurities about his body. Of course Edward noticed this. When he had taken care of Oswald after he was shot, Oswald seemed mildly perturbed at the thought of being undressed in front of Edward. He supposed it was brushed it off with the thought that it was simply to dress and redress his extensive wounds. And for the majority, that was true, but he could help but notice the surprisingly broad pale, hairless chest, peppered with freckles (his mind offered another memory, one of his mother telling him that freckles were kisses from angels, which seemed very ironic for his Penguin), and faint raven hair leading to below his waistband, which he did not lift. Back then, Penguin had been far from chubby, but you couldn't see his ribcage when he breathed, unlike Ed himself, and now he could feel the difference in weight. It seemed like Penguin was still trying to keep from gaining all that weight back, not that Edward cared. He didn't think that Oswald would look bad if he grew plumper, he'd been more attracted to his repute and intellect, his ability to grab attention and keep it, in spite of his leg, his shaking nature, and his shifty arctic-green eyes. Oswald was far more than his body, and Edward felt a need to remind him that at times. 

Which was why, when Oswald tentatively brushed his tongue along the seam over his mouth, silently asking permission for entrance, The Riddler was surprised. He could tell this meant something to his Penguin, and he supposed it meant something for him too, in more ways than one. The marked the end of his pain with Isabella, with Kristen, and finally fully forgave his friend... his, hopefully, partner. It opened the door for a new future with Ozzie, former Mayor of Gotham, former King of Gotham's Underworld. Perhaps, together, the latter wouldn't be so former anymore. But, of course, that was something else to discuss at a later time, and The Riddler allowed Oswald to invade his mouth gingerly, almost hesitantly, and Ed was reminded why he needed to take control of the situation. Because Oswald was too afraid to ask on his own, not that Edward would decline. He kissed back a little more feverishly before pulling back gently, eyes opening to find them heavy lidded. Oswald's seemed to be in a similar situation, though his looked a little more curiously concerned.

"Bedroom," He spoke softly, voice labored and reluctant to vibrate out of his larynx. He was lucky his voice hadn't cracked. Upon speaking that word, Oswald seemed to suddenly remember that they weren't the only things on this plane of existence. "If you want to. If not, I understand. I will be equally as happy to take things slow." He asked his question without actually asking, not sure if he had enough bravery to come out and ask.

"Oh!" He said, voice equally strained. "I would... like to go to the bedroom, yes." He answered his question without actually answering. They really were quite similar. He watched the coy smile make it's way onto Ozzie's face, with a rosy blush to accompany it. Ed finally removed his hand from the Penguin's tie, allowing their fingers to lace, and Oswald led him down a corridor, walking... differently. As if he were trying to stifle his limp, which made Edward's heart sting a little. Tonight, he would make it his mission to show Oswald how much he loved what he may perceive as flaws. When they arrived at the bedroom, it was much like Edward expected it to be, from what he could tell (Ozzie had decided to not turn on the lights). it was a medium sized room, with a canopy bed in the middle, white and black sheets with elegant designs, black comforter white charcoal gray designs that matches his sheets, and four pillows, two decorative. A tall black dresser sat beside the right side of the bed, and a nightstand on the other, with glasses, a book, and a lamp sitting upon it. The windows were tall with thick, black curtains. The floor was a dark polished wood, one that creaked with each step. He looked forward to hearing it during their activities later in the night.

Oswald grabbed his attention once more by closing the door behind him, and they both took the time to do the decidedly unsexy motions of removing their shoes and socks, his partner stabilizing against a canopy of the bed whilst removing his left shoe. Edward folded his socks and placed his shoes neatly by the door, laying his folded socks in the opening of his left shoe. He gave Oswald a smile, more confident and encouraging, and dare he say loving. Oswald returned the smile, seeming to relax a little. However, the tenseness returned when he asked a question that he'd seemed to hate to ask.

"Lights on or off?" Edward decided that, for this time, he would oblige to use of the moonlight for their illumination. For Oswald's sake. He main priority was to be sure Oswald was comfortable and relaxed.

"Off." Os looked at him knowingly, but said nothing. He made his way over to Oswald, gently cupping his chin to tilt his head up and kiss him once more, mouth having grown cold without him near. Winters really were a bitch in Gotham. Os seemed to understand, humming softly when he was met with the chilling temperature of his mouth. His fingers, long and agile, slid polished black plastic buttons through their designated holes, sliding off Oswald's coat, hearing it fall to the ground with a soft thud, feeling the air it drafted against his feet. He leaned down, gently guiding Oswald down onto the center of the bed, pulling off his own coat, Oswald's hands curiously drifting over his back soon after, feeling at the cotton, and the warm skin that lie beneath it, and Edward situated himself between Os's legs. He was a little surprised to find how easily he fell into his position, his body seemingly ardent to be in its situation (if his already half-hard member was any clue to it). Oswald seemed to be feeling the same way, a similar almost hard-on grinding lightly against his lower stomach, eliciting a soft, quiet moan from his penguin, and he eagerly drunk it in. Oh, that was too pretty.

He ran his hands along the outside of his thighs, up his sides, and he felt Oswald squirm slightly. He kissed him a little harder, hoping to direct his attention away from Ed's wandering hands. He felt Oswald relax slightly, and he using his left arm to prop him up, the right busy working off Oswald's waist coat buttons (which he noticed was a little tight. His poor penguin was squeezing himself into a size too small). He felt Oswald grasp his wrist, and his stilled his movements. Oswald gently pulled back from the kiss.

"Ed..." He whispered, sounding... almost ashamed. His heart stung once more.

"You are beautiful," He responded, and Oswald let out a sharp breath of disbelief. "I mean it, Oswald. And I hate that you can't see it too." He leaned and kissed him again, kissing down his jaw and neck (which earned him gentle whimpers and whispers of adoration), only continuing when he felt Oswald's grip loosen, but moved slowly, for Oswald to grow comfortable with each button untucked. He was careful and precise, being sure not to fumble his fingers as if he were inexperienced (though, he was, having never exactly been with a man before. He briefly wondered if Oswald had, though). He slipped the waist coat off, feeling Oswald arch beneath his fingertips to help pull it off easier. He purred softly, happy with the act of submission, knowing Oswald must have caught onto his power kink by now. He felt the shorter man begin to fumble at his tie, and he smirked softly, sitting up after pressing a reassuring kiss to Oswald's lips.

Os's eyes always entranced Edward. He'd seen them reveal so much about Oswald (his mind gave him yet another memory, one of his teacher telling him how eyes were the windows to the soul), seen them lit up in glee, depressed, angered, irritated, and terrified. He had seen many a time how whenever he got enraged, those big blue-green eyes would fill with tears. He always thought that whenever people cried, it was a sign of weakness and vulnerability. Not with Oswald. When Oswald laughed in mania with tears of hate in his eyes, face reddened and fist clutching his cane, it always seemed he was at his most angry, that whoever he looked at first would soon be graced with the wrong end of a gun or a sharp, twisted insult that dug into ones psyche and tore it apart. It was what intimidated him most about the man beneath him. He always managed to turn a weakness into a strength. Even love. And now, those big, entrancing eyes were blown wide with lust, watching his every moment. Edward briefly wondered if Oswald thought he was going to leave, by the slight tightening of his knees against Ed's sides.  _Ha,_ he thought,  _There is no amount of money that could make me want to leave. Not even if Gotham itself was burning to its damned pavement._

He moved his hands up, slowly, watching Os's eyes follow his hands as they trailed along his chest, to the knot of his tie. Long fingers curled around the black tie, taking his time to feel the seam and silk under the pads of his thumbs, and with two sharp and sudden tugs, pulled it loose. Oswald bit the inside of his cheek, member giving a throb. He smirked a little, then Oswald sat up, nose brushing against Edwards'. He gave a soft, loving kiss that, somehow, left him breathless. Oswald leaned back a little, fingertips finding the sides of his glasses and gently sliding them off. He leaned back, gingerly folding them and, being sure not to touch the lenses or drop them, set them beside his own on the nightstand. His eyes were still a little unfocused, now less able to make out Oswald's face in the dark, not that it was much worse. The shadows from the moonlight offered little help. The tie fell to the floor beside the bed. He guided Oswald back up, taking his hands and putting them to the buttons of his sleeves.

"You can do mine first," He said, softly. Oswald, forcing his fingers to remain steady as he carefully slid the buttons out of the slits in the fabric. Now that he was closer, Edward was able to make out the intricate details of his lover's face, the freckles, the smile lines, the thick, black hair the just barely covered his eyebrows, threatening to block his view. He needed a haircut (but not until he felt the raven hair between his fingers). Oswald, eyes unable to look away from Ed's, found his other sleeve in the darkness, and made quick work of that button. His hands were shaking a little when he touched the Riddler's chest, mimicking the slight show that Edward had given him earlier. He was sure Os could feel his heart palpitations beating like a drum. He leaned, lightly nibbling on the Penguin's jaw, leaving a very faint purple mark against his pale, stubble-less skin.

"Oh, Ed," He whispered softly, hands flattening against his chest but making no move to push him away. He smiled gently against his skin. Looks like he found a sweet spot. He took Os's hands, leading them back to the top button of his shirt, as he made his own trek beneath Os's chin, to the back of his jaw and beneath his ear. He sucked at the pulse point, feeling it beat rapidly beneath his lips, lightly grazing his teeth until sinking in gently, then soothing it over with his tongue, and fuck if Oswald didn't whine out his name. He smirked, gently squeezing his wrists to remind him of what he was supposed to do. Oswald finally got to work, slowly and carefully. Edward made note of this, knowing this was probably how Oswald wanted it to be done. Soon enough, Ed's torso met cold air. Os didn't touch until Edward leaned into him, in which case he lightly pushed him away to take a gander at his figure. Scars decorated his chest, and Edward saw the guilt on his face, even through blurry vision and darkness. He always had a feeling that Oswald blamed himself for these marks when he showed Ed the way into the game. He leaned and kissed him softly, cupping his cheeks.

"It's okay," He breathed as they pulled away. Oswald gave a soft nod in response. Edward smiled softly, and Os's gaze fell back down. Edward didn't consider himself anything special, if anything, he was almost too skinny. His hips poked out sharply, his arms and shoulders slightly broadened and toned, as that was a symptom of antagonizing a city and its rulers. Running and pulling one's self up from life threatening ledges happen more often than he thought (He remembered when he pulled himself out of the vents form Arkham, almost escaping. Almost being the key word). Oswald's fingers drifted further down, shaking breath and hands beginning to die down as his anxiety and adrenaline wore down, and Ed swallowed softly. It was thrilling. The man before him, touching him with such consideration and delicacy, had done horrific things. Killed his step-mother after making her eat her roasted children, his half-siblings. Thrown Fish Mooney _herself_ off a building. Became an icon of power and success. And here he is, in awe at the very side of his nude chest, reduced to lusting eyes and kiss-bruised lips. Edward had the power to do such a thing. Another rush of arousal shook through him at the thought.

Ed leaned forward, catching Oswald's wrists in his hands once more, kissing him deeply. Penguin relaxed into it, gently pulling his right hand out of Ed's light grip, grasping the back of his neck. He brought his own up to cup Os's cheek, lightly stroking his thumb over his cheekbone. To be completely honest, this is not how Edward imagined this panning out. He imagined it more teeth and urgency, built-up ardor exploding like fireworks (or, perhaps more accurately, gunshots). He'd imagined hands desperately tearing off clothing, grasping flesh, insistent words and whines spilling out into moaning, groaning, even screaming. Of course that was inaccurate, maybe even brash. Oswald was a tactile learner, he needed the comfort of touch to truly understand, and Oswald also contained a fear of the unknown. He shouldn't have expected his Penguin to throw himself into his arms desperately, breathless and begging. Ozzie was far more elegant, far more sophisticated to degrade himself to such low standards. Oswald needed this, and he thinks that a part of him needed this too. Slow, careful movements. Anything too fast might bring up bad memories. He was grateful that Oswald knew more of what he needed rather than of what he needed. 

That's when he lightly dragged his hand down to the buttons of Oswald's shirt, and he tensed. The hand that was grasping his wrist turned to holding it gently, threading their fingers together. He gave a soft squeeze, and Oswald squeezed back. Ed began to gently unbutton the top, one at a time, until it was completely undone. He unbuttoned the sleeves next, both hands coming up to lightly grasp the wrist of the hand against Edward's neck. He pressed a soft kiss to the palm of his hand, looking deep into his eyes, unbuttoning it gently, then pressing a kiss to his inner wrist. His eyes did not waver from Os's, not once looking down. Os had to make the decision to take it off, whenever he was ready. After a moment, Oswald took in a small breath, then pulled off the article of clothing, moving closer to Edward for heat. He pressed a loving kiss to his lips, then eased him back into his earlier position, taking advantage of the placement to press kisses to his throat and down his chest.

Oswald had his own fair share of scars, and he pressed a kiss to each one of them, pausing when he saw the scar that he'd delivered. Oswald propped himself on his elbows, looking at Edward, silently asking an urgent question;  _Was that scar going to make him leave? Make him regret ever coming to terms with each other?_

Edward found his gaze and pressed a kiss to the scar.  _No._ The thing was, Ed loved Os before he loved Kristen or Isabella. And though sometimes it still hurt him to think about them, it no longer hurt when he thought about Oswald. He was glad he could let himself care once more, for Penguin no less. And, Oswald had most definitely learnt his lesson when it came to jealousy. He continued his trek down. Oswald had no reason to be afraid, he still was far from chubby. From what ed could understand, it was left over fear from when he was a child, but that was none of Edward's business, not until or if Penguin decided it was. 

He looked up to Oswald when he reached his belt. He gave a short nod, and Ed pulled his belt off with sharp ease, drawing out a quiet gasp from Oswald's pink lips. He pulled down his trousers, sliding them down his thighs, past his knees, then his calves and ankles. He slid his hands up the sides of his legs, shifting back up. He lightly kissed the inside of Oswald's bad knee. 

"Ed-" Os started, nervous.

"Os, relax." He smiled up at him reassuringly. He massaged his leg softly, slowly, and watched as Oswald relaxed. He made sure to only touch the muscle, and not the direct point of injury. He always imagined it would be tense, and he was right. He wouldn't have started anything if he didn't make sure Os's leg was at least somewhat relaxed. He kissed up to he inside of his thigh when he was done, mouthing over the bulge in Oswald's white and grey pinstriped boxers. 

"Oh," Oswald breathed, eyes fluttering softly as he looked up to the ceiling. If he looked down, at Edward, who was surely looking up at him, he was sure he wouldn't last (after all, the time between seeing Ed for the first time and imagining Ed on his knees was a matter of minutes, not months). His arms were stretched out on either side of his torso, chest heaving softly, and Ed watched his eyelashes fall as his eyes closed. Ed smirked softly, hands crawl up to his waistband, feeling at the elastic. "Edward, just pull them down,  _fuck."_ Edward chuckled softly, pulling back a little.

"Your wish is my command, Mr. Cobblepot." He pulled them down with a sharp tug, eliciting another sharp gasp from Oswald as cold air hit his probably aching cock. Ed took very little time to admire, he was sure there would be more time for that later, simply taking it in his hand. He did, however, take the time to notice that Oswald was not circumcised, also unlike himself. He didn't mind, watching the crown of Oswald's flushed cock disappear behind the foreskin as he dragged his hand up the member, and Oswald let out a soft, wanton moan. He remembered making one himself, his first time. He let his mouth envelope the appendage. This is where his experience ran short. He could hear Os above him let out a strangled cry and his fingers tangled into Ed's brown locks, carefully product-laden hair now mussed up. Ed was slow to sink down onto him, holding Os's waist as a silent command to remain still. Once he had buried himself to the hilt, feeling the head hitting the back of his throat. He bobbed his head back up, releasing Oswald's hips, allowing him to move.

Needless to say, this was one of the last places Oswald ever though he would find himself in. Hands In Ed's hair, cock in that pretty mouth of his. He still didn't look, eyes closed to focus on the feel of the sheets under his back and feet, which was much cooler in comparison to his skin. He bent his knees, lightly thrusting up into Ed's mouth with a moan, soon finding a slow and deep rhythm. Ed leaned down to meet him, encouraging him to go faster, though he knew the angle wasn't great. Oswald tried his best, moving just slightly faster, another strangled cry coming from his mouth as he saw himself coming close. He slowed to a stop.

"Close," He murmured to Ed, who hummed in acknowledgment. Ed let up, and kissed at his hip softly, letting Oswald step away from that taunting, tempting, teasing edge. 

"You have on way too much clothes, Eddie," Oswald said, a small smirk on his lips. 

"Agreed," Ed responded, smirking right back and he got up onto his knees, taking off and pulling his belt free from his belt loops. He shifted out of his slacks, revealing a color that Oswald could only describe as Riddler green briefs, sitting snug to the Riddler's hips, leaving little to the imagination. Oswald sat up, pulling him into a deep kiss, fingers curling against the curve of Edward's neck. Edward crooned softly against Oswald's mouth, hands coming up to cup his cheeks, cradling Oswald's face in his hands like a delicate relic. Oswald dragged his hands down Ed's torso, hooking his thumbs into his waistband, making his hushed inquisition. When Riddler began to kiss down the side of his neck, biting and sucking and marking him, he took that as a yes.

Oswald gently pushed off the, quite frankly, glaring article of clothing from Ed's sharp and chiseled hips. Oswald envied him for his figure. It astounded him how Edward could eat the same amount of food as him and not gain an ounce (his mind reminded him how fat is burned, that his leg allowed for a lack of calories burned, but he mentally told himself to shut up and pay attention to his soon-to-be lover). Ed had told him more than once that he thought he was too skinny, but he assumed that the way they viewed themselves and their insecurities is very different to how others perceive them. In all honesty, he probably wouldn't have noticed if Nygma hadn't pointed it out. But the way he viewed it, both of their issues were champagne problems. 

Edward shoved the briefs down the rest of the way, allowing the kiss to grow more rough and desperate, hands grasping at open flesh, the once cold air in the room suddenly hold, as they both had grown damp. He moans softly when he felt Oswald grasp and tug at his hair with earnest, that wicked mouth nibbling at his jaw and the column of his throat, his own hands dragging down to his waist. That mouth of Oswald's, able to spit nasty abuse, able to smile warmer than a fire in the middle of winter, able to sing like a songbird. Edward's hips rutted forward at the memory of him singing, both men giving a moan at the delectable friction. Edward did not think he would ever be the desperate one in this scenario. This made little sense to him now, considering he was the one who reached out, he was the one who initiated all of this, it was no wonder he would be the most wanting (though, if Penguin's moan, if his frantic lips, his flushed cheeks the same shade as his cock were anything to go by, he was enjoying it just as much as he) out of the two. Of course, the scenario that chose to arise was the one that he never saw coming.

"Oh dear," Ed gasped softly, and he felt the vibrations against his skin when Oswald chuckled softly. He pulled back, just barely.

"I haven't heard you say that in a while, Ed," He hummed. The Riddler smiled faintly. 

"Haven't said it in a while," He replied.

"You should say it more often." Oswald bit at the nape of Ed's neck. "It's pretty cute."

"I'll show you cute, Oswald." He leaned down, laying the former mayor back onto the sheets. He pressed his hips down upon the Penguins once more, his cock still slick from the earlier ministrations. Os let out a soft hiss of pleasure, accompanied by a soft whine as he hooked his good leg around Ed's waist. 

"Don't tease, Ed, it's an awful shade on you." Ed chuckled.

"Eager little penguin, aren't you?"

"You're one to talk." Ed blushed faintly. So Oswald had picked up on that, too. "Nightstand drawer." Edward reached toward the mentioned area, pulling the drawer open slightly and reaching in. His fingers found a bottle and a box, and he pulled them out. He noted that the condoms had never been opened (which truly diminished a small jealous flare up in him that was upset at the idea of Oswald ever having sex before him), but the lube was half-empty. He raised an eyebrow at Oswald, who smirked up at him.

"And I'm the eager one?" He teased, opening up the box.

"Hey, a man's got his needs," He replied, grinning easily, watching as Edward tore open a packet and rolled the condom onto his cock. 

"A man's needs doesn't always include getting fucked up the ass." 

"Needs can be particular." Edward began to slick up his cock.

"Apparently so," He hummed, lining himself up with Oswald's entrance, then easing into him slowly. Oswald tilted his head back, choking on his breath as he grasped at Edward's back, who seemed to be doing the same. Fuck, Oswald was tight. As he should be, being a virgin. He imagined he would be, admittedly, it wasn't a hard truth to accept when Oswald was revealed to have never been with someone... though, he seemed rather skilled with his mouth (Fish Mooney suddenly popped up in his head, and he had to refrain from asking, though he had every intention of starting that fight later, as unlikely it would be that Oswald answered the question). He continued further as his gently pace until he was fit snugly, hip to hip. He watched Oswald's expression, watching the soft, uncomfortable aspect turn into one of content, and he nodded for him to begin to move.  _Steady as she goes,_ Edward's mind told him, and he thrust gently. Oswald keened softly, and Ed knew that he appreciated the careful attention Ed was willing to give. His hips and muscles begged for him to moved harder, faster (how Isabella liked it), but he refused such treatment. Oswald deserved better.

Edward began to kiss along the shorter man's collarbone, biting and sucking and marking him all over in a place only he knew about. Strange possessiveness fell over the Riddler, and he grinned a little. This, he knew was a wonderful shade on him. Oswald, if his moaning and gasping and grasping were any answer, seemed to agree with that assumption. He kissed up and under his chin, rocking his hips just slightly faster, biting softly at the soft, supple skin, forcing Oswald's head back into the mattress slightly.

"Oh  _dear,"_ He heard Oswald mutter. Ed smirked softly.

"And here I thought that was my line?" He asked, kissing at his jaw.

"It is,  _ah,_ most definitely a line that,  _oh! ,_ applies to both of u-us in this situation, my dear," He managed, stutters and interruptions in his speech caused by the deep motions into him. "Ed, more, please..." Edward indulged his lover, pushing in slightly faster, harder, and he buried his face in Oswald's neck, breathing in his aroma, moaning against his pulse. He felt Oswald shiver under him, desperately grasping tighter, nails digging into his shoulders softly. Oh, desperately he wished he could see them from a third person's point of view. See the rhythmic roll of his hips, such a simple motion driving the man beneath him as insane as Jerome Valeska himself, Oswald's eyes fluttering shut and leg hooked over his waist urging him closer. The thought alone made him groan once more. "Ed," Oswald whispered.  _"Oh,_ Ed, I'm  _close-"_ Ed didn't want this to be over. It had been three, almost four years in the making. But any protest was simmered down in his throat when his own orgasm flowed through him, hot ribbons of passion getting caught by their protection. Oswald fell into the abyss soon after, crying out a beautiful tune, calling out his name like a Goddamn prayer. If he hadn't already, Edward was damn sure he would have come from that alone. He gently pulled out after riding through their glow, taking off, tying off, and throwing out the condom before laying beside Oswald and curling up with him under the weighted comforter. "I don't know  _what_ was going through your head when you hallucinated me," Oswald murmured against his chest. "But I am damn glad you did." Ed chuckled softly down at him, holding him tighter.

"Me too, Oswald," He muttered back, running his fingers through his raven hair. "Me too."


End file.
